Today marks the 100th birthday of William F. Buckley Jr.—a towering figure in American conservatism. This occasion has been marked by tributes from countless voices across the political spectrum. Perhaps most notably is the release of Sam Tanenhaus’ Buckley: The Life and Revolution That Changed America—some twenty-seven years in the making. Other tributes include dozens of articles across almost every major American newspaper, nearly an entire edition of National Review, and even a special edition stamp from the United States Postal Service.
Buckley looms large in the conservative ethos—and for good reason. He was a larger than life figure whose political legacy lives on through the movement he inaugurated. His mark on the political history of the United States is truly indelible. Furthermore, Buckley modeled key political virtues around which he built his political empire and is worthy of honor for doing so.
William F. Buckley Jr. was born in 1925 into a world foreign to the average American. The son of a serial-millionaire—once-ruined, twice-made—he was reared at “Great Elm,” Buckley Sr.’s grand estate and home of the largest elm tree in Connecticut.
As a boy, Buckley lived in Mexico, France, and England before settling into Great Elm at age seven. By this point, “Bill” had mastered Spanish, French, and English before beginning homeschool curriculum until high school, at which point he began attending a Jesuit preparatory school in England. His homeschooled years were marked by horseback riding, hunting, and the cultivation of a life-long love of both classical music and sailing.
Following his tenure with the Jesuits, the world was thrust into war. Thus, Buckley answered his country’s call, serving from 1944-46 in the U.S. Army. Buckley, aged 20, then matriculated into Yale University in pursuit of the B.A. During this time he joined Skull and Bones, the infamous secret society, and gathered material for God and Man at Yale: The Superstitions of “Academic Freedom”—the book that would launch him into the public square.
Though Buckley’s upbringing is foreign to the average American, his writing very much was not. National Review launched in 1955 and quickly became a success. Buckley was thrust onto the national stage, quickly becoming a household name.
But not only did Bill Buckley build a name for himself—he also built a political empire, uniting conservatives of all stripes together for the sake of the country. This was done through a movement that became known as fusionism.
The idea was simple: to politically unite libertarians, traditionalist conservatives, and anti-communists. The tent was intentionally broad for the sake of uniting behind particular candidates. Though the movement showed up in numbers in 1964 and made a noble attempt to elect Barry Goldwater as president, it saw the culmination of its success with the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980 and the rise of the moral majority.
Though fusionism is often touted as the product of moral compromise, this misses its animating principle. Buckley understood that politics is the art of the possible. Though fusionism may appear at first glance to be nothing more than pragmatism, it is actually rooted in a deeply conservative impulse—something that could even be considered Christian realism.
Far from representing the compromise of the conservative worldview, fusionism is its very embodiment. The movement is definitionally non-utopian. Where individual conservative factions refused to yield an inch of their ideology, fusionism recognized that such compromise was necessary if any element of it would be successfully implemented. Buckely understood the sinfulness of man and the need for government to constrain the human heart. He also understood that government could never bring about heaven on earth. In these ways, fusionism bore the marks or Christian realism, recognizing that doing politics on this side of Eden requires prudence, humility, and sometimes principled compromise.
It is apparent that these conservative principles animated Buckley’s career from its outset. Buckley exhibited truly convictional leadership from the very beginning of his career. So committed was Buckley to these values that he entered the 1965 New York City mayoral race with the express purpose of sabotaging John Lindsay—in Buckley’s mind, a liberal disguised as a Republican. Buckley’s entire campaign centered around keeping Lindsay from the mayoralty. Though it failed to do so, it did derail Lindsay from further political ascent, and, in that sense achieved its goal.
Buckley served as a gatekeeper of the conservative movement long after Lindsay. He insisted that conspiracists, extremists, and antisemites had no place in the coalition he built. Though fusionism’s tent was broad, it was never so broad as to admit those who would discredit it. Buckley’s willingness to police the boundaries helped the movement to remain both intellectually serious and morally grounded
The legacy of this conservative coalition is unmistakable. President Reagan was a personal friend of Buckley and was deeply influenced by National Review from its earliest days. Everything that came after Reagan—from philosophical shifts on the courts, to the moral majority, to the eventual emergence of MAGA—can be seen as an outworking of fusionism. Such a broad movement is sure to arouse some controversy and less-than-ideal outputs at times, nevertheless, the power of Buckley’s conservative coalition is undeniable—and, all things considered, quite good.
But Buckley’s legacy is not only as a coalition builder and prolific writer, but also as a warrior—a rather happy one at that. A dive into the Hoover Institute’s collection of Firing Line episodes—Buckley’s thirty-four season-long talk-show—will show a man delighting in his work. Even beyond Buckley’s leadership within the conservative movement, his legacy is as a man who loved both his work and those around him.
Buckley’s schedule was absurdly packed. One need only to pick up Overdrive or Cruising Speed—each a two-hundred-fifty plus page treatment of only one-week of Buckley’s life—to see this. Yet, he always found time for people. As Tanaenhaus says of him, “All who came into Bill Buckley’s orbit felt the magical pull of his friendship.” Though he had brutal run-ins with such figures as Gore Vidal, these exceptions only prove the rule.
Such a warmth and joviality stands in contrast to today’s conservative movement. Conspiratorial anti-semitism is gaining ground. Anger and resentment often overpower principled conservatism. And highly-committed factions—each convinced of the purity of its ideology—strain the seams of a once-cohesive movement.
Seventeen-years after his death, William F. Buckley Jr. remains a model for the conservative movement: grounded, serious, and genuinely happy. Buckley demonstrates that one can engage in the culture war with prudence and joy. May conservatism rediscover the way of Buckley and become, once again, a convictional movement, rooted in reality, and engaging with both gravity and grace. Rest in peace, happy warrior.
